


Of Love, Past and Present

by femmenoire



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 18:47:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11019381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femmenoire/pseuds/femmenoire
Summary: Savitar watches Iris and Barry. And remembers. Oh if only he didn't.Soundtrack: Meiko, "You're Mine (The Chase)"





	Of Love, Past and Present

**Savitar**

He hated skulking in the night.

It was beneath him. He knew it was.

But he had abandoned his pride, on this particular issue, months ago.

He had needs. And there was only so much he could do on his own.

They were distant memories by this point, but the feeling of her hands and mouth on his skin still burned like fire.

His body ached with need.

There was no substitute.

***

She was sitting at the kitchen table, her fingers tapping away on her laptop.

He couldn’t remember everything, every detail, about his life, but if it pertained to Iris, his memory got close to complete.

He could hear the sound of her fingers flying striking the keys on her keyboard; smell her mint tea that was, knowing her, untouched; feel her soft cashmere sweater under his fingertips.

He watched him, this version of him, dig his fingers into her shoulders. He started at the sight, fearing that he was being too rough, but remembered (in that instance), that his touch had been light. Just deep enough to pull a moan from her throat before she shrugged him off.

  
“I’m on deadline.” He watched her lips move as he remembered the sound of her voice. Smooth, slightly tired, a direct line to his heart. The wind blew his hair over his face and he remembered his scars. He remembered losing her.

“It’s late,” he said, as _he_ said it as well. “Let’s go to bed.”

He couldn’t tear his eyes from her face. He didn’t remember this. He hadn’t seen this. Her smirk, as she pretended to think about it. Her finger, inching toward the key to save her document. And then her quick movements on the keyboard, her smile, the sound of her voice. “You gonna make it worth my while?”

He said, he remembered, “Always,” as his hands went back to her shoulders, down her arms, his thumbs brushing the sides of her breasts.

His rage and jealousy were one deep pit of despair. But he closed his eyes and remembered, bending at the waist, pushing her hair aside, his lips brushing the skin at her neck, his tongue raking across her earlobe.

It was a memory. But the taste of her ghosted across his taste buds.

His body responded, now and then.

For her. Always.

***

**Iris**

She wanted to tease him.

She liked to tease him. But he was too fast.

Of course he was too fast.

She pushed her bra strap off her left shoulder and turned her head. She’d planned to give him a look, _that look,_ but he was there. Pressed behind her. His lips on the skin bared by her brastrap. His tongue tasting her skin.

“Barry,” she whispered. And then his lips were on hers, his tongue slipping into her mouth. She groaned.

He made quick work of the rest of her clothes. But he moved slower than she knew he could. Just long enough to linger at her waist while he pushed her skirt and panties over her hips; run his fingers down her spine as he unhooked her bra; pinch her nipples as he pulled the fabric away from her body.

And then there was his mouth. Hot and wet on all of her exposed skin.

His clothes were rough against her back, but his hands were soft, cupping her breasts.

“Barry,” she said again, a moan turning her voice into a whine.

“Iris,” he said, against the flat of her back.

“Oh god,” she moaned, biting her bottom lip as his teeth scraped her skin.

***

**Barry**

“Iris,” he said, over and over again. Her name like a prayer falling from his lips, reverberating against the heated wall of her skin.

He could have helped her pull his clothes off. Or, better yet, he could have done it all himself and been naked in a fraction of a second. But she liked to tease him. As much as he liked to tease her. And so her tongue followed her hands as she bared his body to the cool air of their apartment. And sometimes so did her teeth 

He exhaled roughly as her teeth scraped across his nipple. He jumped when her lips clamped down and her wet mouth began to suckle his sensitive flesh.

“Iris,” he growled. He felt her smile against his chest.

She kissed and licked up his chest while her fingers deftly unbuttoned his pants and slid them down his hips.

“Please,” he whispered.

Her face was barely two inches from his own. He wanted to kiss her. He always wanted to kiss her. There was a soft sheen of sweat just at her hairline.

She was beautiful.

And she was his 

***

**Savitar**  

He should be embarrassed.

He considered that once upon a time he had been. Too embarrassed to skulk outside of their apartment at night. Too prideful to watch her with him.

But, as he licked his hand, he just didn’t care anymore. The wind cooled the moisture on his hand instantly. So he spat into his palm instead. He moaned loudly as his wet hand wrapped around his dick. He was hard, painfully so.

He’d been looking forward to this all day. He hadn’t planned to come here tonight. But the sight of her, in the early afternoon, walking to Jitters had changed his evening plans. Her red dress was swaying in the soft breeze, hugging her breasts, hips and ass. He sped past her at an intersection. She was wearing _his_ favorite perfume. 

It made his dick hard.

He’d been hard ever since.

He was exposed, crouching on the fire escape just outside of their bedroom window. But the risk was worth it.

She was always worth it.

He leaned back against the railing and focused on her movements. 

She lowered herself onto his waiting dick, which was standing straight up, always eager to meet her.

It was a strange experience to see and remember all at once. His memories were indelible, he needed to only close his eyes and he could see her from below, watching as she lowered herself onto him. But he enjoyed watching her slowly ride him, while he stroked himself, willing his hand to match her pace.  

***

They started off slow 

Precum leaked from his tip.  He swiped his palm across his tip to further lubricate his hand. It was a poor substitute for her pussy growing ever more wet around him.

He swallowed a groan as he watched Barry raise one hand to grasp at her right breast. His left hand twitched remembering the feel of her soft skin.

Her eyes closed as she increased the pace.

He remembered this moment. Barry had wanted to be lost in the moment. He wanted to focus on the wet sound of their bodies joining. But he hadn’t been able to. All he could think, while Iris was chasing her release on top of him, was how little time they had. And it had made him sad.

Normally this would have made Savitar happy, knowing that he was so thoroughly in Barry’s head that he couldn’t even enjoy fucking Iris.

But right now, his dick hard in his rough hand, his eyes trained on her bouncing breasts, his mouth dry missing the long gone taste of her, he hated himself.

Finally, he closed his eyes. But he willed himself not to remember this moment in particular. Instead he cobbled together a year (not nearly enough time) of the best sex of his life. A year of fulfilling his wildest adolescent fantasies of having sex with the love of his life. A year of finally being able to be with Iris, the only woman he would ever love. A year of not-best-friend hugs; and kisses that started off innocent but ended with her slipping her tongue into his mouth; of her tongue licking him from ball to tip; her mouth sucking him deep into her throat; her nipples between his fingers and in his mouth; a year of his head buried between her thighs, a year of her reassuring him (“it’s okay”) that it was safe to come inside her like they both desperately wanted; a year of them both falling asleep with his dick buried inside her and his ear pressed against her chest, her heart beating loud and fast and alive. He conjured it all, while stroking himself faster, squeezing his hand around his girth.

When he was close he dared open his eyes. 

Sometimes he wondered if he still had a heart.

Nights like this he was reminded that he did, and he hated himself passionately.

He came, squirting all over his hand, while Barry cupped Iris’ face. Iris’ hands were pressed against his chest. Their eyes were trained on each other.

If his memory hadn’t focused his attention he would have ignored the tears falling from Barry’s eyes, joining Iris’ own waterworks, as they soaked the pillow beneath Barry’s head.

If only he could have forgotten the sounds of her sobbing, somewhere between orgasm and anguish, and Barry’s (his) own choked sobs.

But he couldn’t.

 

He remembered it all

 

 

 

 


End file.
